In The Shadow Of Remembering, They Take Me Down
by SashaLikaMusica
Summary: In The Shadow Of Remembering, They Take Me Down (The Music Still Lingers Here) Emily is still pining for Alison. But what if she's wishing for something that's been there all along? Disclaimer: I don't own Emily or Alison or Pretty Little Liars. Duh. Plus, if I did, they'd be on HBO. :)


On nights like these, Emily thinks of Alison.

The clear black skies and sparkling stars are too much like Ali to be true – a dark, infinite, incomprehensible existence scattered with patches of light and truth. Emily knows that Ali led her on, but she also knows that there were moments when everything about Ali was real. She knows that Ali yelled at her that day in the locker room for hitting on her, but she also knows that the slight shiver of Ali's skin when their lips collided wasn't a lie. The pain hurts, and she doesn't know if Ali was worth it, after all.

Ali is the stars, a sun superimposed on a background of endless sky.

When Emily kisses Maya, she thinks of Alison. Maya's lips are slightly harsh, and they taste like weed and banana bubble gum; Ali's lips were softer than anything in the world, and they tasted like confectionary and watermelon with just a hint of the cheap cherry vodka that she'd stolen from the Grille. Maya was easy to be around, lazy and lounging; Ali was a challenge, and she kept Emily on her toes every second of every day. But the difference was that when Maya was Emily, she acted just the same as any other time of day. When Ali was there, it was like they were the only people in the world.

Ali had a way of making Emily feel special; soft giggles, a signature hair toss, a smile here and there in the corner of a lipstick-smeared mirror frame, and Ali's little murmurs of, "you're my favorite, you know" – all were reserved for the moments when they were completely alone. Around the other girls, Alison was the queen bee, the bitchy best friend, the snarky little role model. With Emily, she became _Alison, _the real Ali, the girl with the slightly clumsy morning feet and the quirky little half smiles; the Alison who ate ice cream when she thought no one was looking, the girl who liked to lie in the dew-dampened grass instead of on the lounge chairs on the back porch while looking up at the stars.

It brought Emily back to the stars again.

Ali brought Emily to the stars and back, a wild, crazy, otherworldly voyage that was breathless and exhilarating and slightly risky all at the same time. She never knew whether she was going to come back home, and she had always felt sure that if she let go of Ali's hand, she'd lose her way. But Ali brought her back every time, clinging to her hands tightly and showing her the way. The room brightened for Emily every time that Alison sauntered in, dancing and twirling and shooting everyone that smart-ass little grin that warmed Emily's heart and made her insides dance like her own blurring sunray of a girl.

Ali wasn't the stars. Alison was the sun, _Emily's _sun, and she wasn't one to forget it easily.

When Emily looks up towards the sky at night, she thinks of Ali and wonders what it would be like if none of this had happened. She'll sneak out from her house on nights when the sky is clear and lie in the dew-damped grass of Maya's yard, _Alison's _yard, and gaze up at the star-strewn sky and the moon-illuminated oak trunk where their initials are carved, and she'll wonder. Sometimes, when she sees a shooting star, tears fill her eyes at the brilliance of the blinding streak of light.

Ali was a shooting star, Emily decided, a dazzling, intense flash of brightness that lights up the dark for a single instant before shooting away again so fast that you can barely see that she was there. The spirit Emily saw in her, the little moments where things felt real, were things of a shooting star-like existence; she'd miss them if she even blinked an eye. She'd flashed through existence like a lightning bolt, a rare patch of brightness that entered quickly, and left just as fast, only there for an instant, but still real. Sometimes, Emily wonders if she was even real at all.

On nights like these, Emily pauses mid-step and listens, hoping, straining to hear the sound of a familiar voice calling.

On nights like these, she tilts her head up to the sky and whispers, "I did love you, once," all the while thinking of how Ali would call her, "crazy girl" in that affectionate way that made her insides jump about and melt like a wax doll driven too close to the candlelight. Ali was her candlelight, and she had melted Emily's heart. That love is enough. The melting hurt like hell, but Emily's convinced now that it was completely worth it.

On nights like these, when she wakes up from another dream of soft lips and stars and cheap, cherry vodka, her lips still tingling and slightly moist, she looks out the window and stares up at the stars. A shooting star brightens up the sky, and in its light, Emily is almost sure that she catches a glimpse of curly blonde hair just whipping out of sight behind the old oak tree. She's almost sure of it – almost, but not quite, because she might be asleep, and in her sleep she can dream anything, but it sure _feels _real enough. She almost is sure that she's awake, but she doesn't trust herself enough to tell, and she doesn't want to pinch herself just in case, because if she is asleep this is such a good dream. She hates being almost sure of anything.

On her way back to bed, she turns, and catches sight of her bedroom door standing open a crack, a thin light streaming in from the nightlight in the hall.

She's completely sure that she closed that door long ago, and now she knows.

On nights like these, Emily sits up, waiting, waiting for the tall girl with the soft blonde hair to come bouncing in the door with a wine bottle, a cheap bar of Hershey's chocolate, and a movie, just like always.

And when Ali meanders in, strolling through the yard in the dead of the starlit night, Emily wonders why she isn't in the least surprised.

It's just like shooting stars, she realizes. They come and they go in a brilliant flash, and you'd better wish upon the quickly, or you'll lose it all. You never know when they're going to show up; they're mysterious, beautiful, and secretive, and they're full of tricks and surprises. You've got to learn to expect them, or they'll shock you every time.

Maybe that's why they remind her so much of Ali – they come and go as they please, always willing to surprise her, showing up with a bang and a brilliant flash of light, leaving her eyes dazed and streaked with a stripe of brightness that doesn't fade away until long after it's gone.

And by the time the haze has cleared and she's ready to move on, another one shows up in its place, just as magnificent and startling as the last.

When Ali returns the way she left, with a bang and flash in the dark of a stormy night, Emily isn't at all surprised, because, well, it's cloudy out.

But she is convinced that she can still see stars.


End file.
